


One in a Million

by NothingImpossibleOnlyImprobable



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, High School, I don't even know how to tag this, Modern AU, dance, ish..., ish?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 13:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8015023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NothingImpossibleOnlyImprobable/pseuds/NothingImpossibleOnlyImprobable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The most popular guy in school asks Emma Swan to the prom, just to give her an experience she'll never forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One in a Million

**Author's Note:**

  * For [qqueenofhades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/qqueenofhades/gifts), [PrairiePirate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrairiePirate/gifts).



> Prompted by qqueenofhades and prairiepirate to write this (I still think either of them are more qualified to do this than me) but here goes! Hope this works!

“Are you going to ask anyone?” Sam Bellamy asks from his perch at the top of the bleachers as he takes a bite of his lunch.  Most popular guy in school, usually surrounded by a gang of friends, and Killian still has no idea why the guy hangs around him at all.  But even he should know the answer to that, that there’s no one Killian Jones would rather take to the dance than _her_.

Killian shakes his head slowly, his hand rubbing his left forearm almost unconsciously, willing away more than just the physical ache left behind in his muscles.  Why would anyone want to go to a bloody school function with him anyway?  Damaged as he is, left behind a year after the accident, broken in more ways than just the obvious.  Who would want _him_?

Especially her.  Especially after he’d abandoned her the year before, in what should have been their first chance.

“It’s just a dance,” he mumbles.  “There’ll be others.”

Sam just shrugs.  “I think you should just do it.  You know she’d say yes.”

“She doesn’t need to be hooked up with a cripple,” Killian bites out.  “She’d probably just say yes out of pity.”  Even as he says the words, he knows it’s a lie.  She doesn’t do _anything_ she doesn't want to do, strongest girl he wishes he knew.  But she deserves someone whole, who can show her a better time than he can, who can hold her on the dance floor with two hands.  Not someone who’ll only remind her of all the loss in her own life mirrored in his.

“I just...” Sam starts, his tone more gentle than Killian can handle right now.  “I don’t think anyone else will ask her, is all.  No one did for the ones last year either.”

_Does he really think I don’t know_? Killian thought angrily.  He’d heard from Robin after the winter formal - a never ending influx of texts to his hospital room that he’d ignored until the next morning - how she had shown up completely alone, how she’d left after half an hour, without having spoken to anyone.  How she hadn’t even gone to the prom three months later.

“Then you ask her,” Killian glares, standing quickly.  He grabs his backpack, slings it over his shoulder, and stalks off to class.

He almost doesn’t hear Sam’s quiet, “Maybe I will.”

* * *

“Are you serious?” she asks, her eyes narrowed.  This has to be some kind of joke.  Sam Bellamy doesn’t ask Emma Swan to the prom.  He could have literally anyone in the school - boy and girl alike - and they’d climb all over themselves to get in line for his attention.  He doesn’t walk up to the forgotten orphan - the lost girl just trying to make it through the day, another moment closer to graduation, closer to eighteen when she can finally be free - and ask her to a dance.

“Quite,” he replies, a genuine smile on his face.  “There’s no one I’d rather go with than you, Emma.”

Okay, this is _definitely_ a joke.  Or maybe a prank.  Or maybe he’s being paid to do it, like some modern Shakespearean play, acted out without her knowledge.  Either way, it can’t be real.  It can’t.

“Why me?” she asks.  “You could go with anyone else in this entire school if you wanted.  Why do you want to go with me?”   _Why now, when no one’s paid the least bit of attention to me before?_

His smile only grows.  “Because I don’t want to go with anyone else.  I’d like to take you, show you a good time.”

Ah.  There it is.  Pity date, give her an evening out so she can forget about the fact that he’s doing it to make himself look better.  Maybe he’ll even win some kind of award for it.  Most Charitable Guy Alive.

“No thanks.”  Emma turns back to her locker and grabs her math book.  “Find some other lost girl to fix.”

She’s not prepared for his hand covering hers, the way he tugs her around gently.  She turns to face him, fixing a glare over her features.  It’s easier that way, scare him off so he doesn’t try again, so she doesn’t have to feel bad for letting him down.  Worked great at the other foster homes, and for prospective parents who never really wanted to adopt someone as broken as her, it can only help here.

“I don’t want to fix you, Emma,” he says quietly, his dark eyes wide and sincere and she’s _definitely_ not prepared for _that_.  “We graduate next year, I just want you to come to one dance, a proper dance, with a proper date, if you’ll allow me the honour.”

She hesitates.  She wants to believe him, wants to think that maybe someone noticed her after all this time, that someone cares whether she’s happy or not.  She almost had it last year, would have been so close, if not for the accident that took her date’s hand just weeks before the dance, took away more of him than he would admit.  They hadn’t spoken since, despite the fact that they now shared two classes.  Sometimes she thought she saw him watching her, from the corner of her eye.  But when she turned, he was looking back down at his desk, no sign that he even remembered her.

In the end, it’s the “please” that does it.

“Emma, please come with me to the prom,” Sam says.  “I promise to be a perfect gentleman, if you’ll grace me with your presence at my side.”

She snorts.  No one talked like that anymore, it was so ludicrously over the top that she almost smiled.  Almost.

“Fine.  I’ll come.”

“With me?” Sam asks, hope clear on his face.

Emma nods.  “With you.”

The happiness in Sam’s eyes almost makes her forget her earlier suspicion.  “Excellent!  I look forward to it.”

She has to borrow an outfit from her only friend, who doesn’t even go to her school, her foster parents don’t have enough to spare for fancy prom gowns.  She suffers through Mary Margaret’s questions about Sam - what he’s like, whether he wants to go out with her after, how dreamy he sounds - and she ends up even more nervous.  What if Sam wants something from her for all this?  What if he expects her to…

But a text from him later, asking what colour her dress is so he can find a tie to match, calms her a bit.  They’re just friends, she thinks, if even that.  It’s just supposed to be fun.

Sam shows up at her door the night of the dance, his tux impeccable, emerald green tie the same shade as her borrowed dress and shoes, a boxed corsage the same colour in his hands, and the nervous flutterings return.  What if she’s not good enough for him, what if she doesn’t look nice enough to be with him in front of all his friends, what if she’s never going to-

“You look lovely, Emma,” he says with a grin, offering her the small flowers.  She forces a smile in return, a light blush warming her cheeks.

He helps her put on the corsage and escorts her to the car.

Emma tries to come up with something to talk about on the ride over, but she’s too anxious to think of anything.  Sam seems to sense her discomfort, he fills the drive with stories of his family, his sisters’ attempts to dress him as another daughter when he was young, his near-catastrophic encounter with a bottle of his eldest sister’s paint just an hour ago.  She grins, laughs even, and finds herself relaxing.

They pull up to the school and he comes around the car, helping her out like a gentleman, and she can’t keep the genuine smile from crossing her lips.

Maybe it won’t be so bad after all.

* * *

Killian can’t believe he let Robin and David talk him into coming to the prom.

They’d showed up at his house, suit in hand, and all but forced him into it, while his brother Liam stood and watched.  He’d grumbled loudly, complained about it, but finally agreed, once Liam offered to give him a ride.  His two friends left to pick up their dates, and he suffered the car ride in near-silence with his brother.

“Dance with someone, Killian,” Liam says quietly, pulling into the parking lot.  The stiff fabric on the suit itches Killian’s wrist, the one uncovered by the brace he wears to cover the scars, and he tries to adjust it with one hand while pointedly ignoring his brother.

But Liam’s hands reach out, fixing the sleeves until it lays properly, his grip tight but insistent on both of Killian’s arms as Killian finally meets his eyes.  “I mean it, brother,” Liam says.  “Dance with someone.  Have a good time, you deserve it.”

Killian mumbles some kind of agreement, says goodbye, and climbs out.  He watches as Liam pulls out of the parking lot, feeling almost like chasing his brother down, like running after the car.  Instead, he turns and heads for the school building.

The gym is decorated with too many streamers and not enough light, too much noise and nowhere to hide from it.  He finds his friends, manages a wave, and heads toward the food tables.  He’s drowning his desire to run back home in a third glass of too-sweet punch when he sees her.

Them, actually.

Sam, with Emma at his elbow, walking through the door in some sort of movie slow-motion entrance scene.  She’s radiant, she’s almost _glowing_ , a smile wider than he’s ever seen across her face, sending twinkles of a kind he never thought possible to her eyes.  She’s happy, she’s _happy_ , and she’s here.

With Sam.

He watches as Sam leads her onto the dance floor, as she takes his hand and starts to dance with him, as they bump into each other and grin about it.  He watches as Emma bends down to rub her foot, as Sam slips off his shoes and offers to take hers, as they resume dancing in only socks and stockings.  He watches as Sam twists her around, as she laughs as she spins, as her dress twirls and twirls and twirls.

He watches until he can’t see anything anymore, until the dim lights and the streamers fade from view, until even the music and the noise drift from his awareness, until all he can see is the two of them on the dance floor.

Happy.

Killian turns and heads toward the door.  He’s breathing too hard, too fast, he’s not sure if he wants to cry or scream or punch something.  Of course she’s having a blast with Sam, of course.  Sam’s perfect, Sam’s a gentleman, Sam’s whole.

And he’s… broken.

He pushes open the door and runs through the hallway, desperate to get as far from the sounds of happiness as possible.  He rounds a corner, presses his back against the row of lockers, rubs both hand and brace into his eyes, willing away the prickling sensation behind them.

Killian doesn’t hear the footsteps behind him, chasing after him, socks on linoleum nearly silent until a warm body crashes into him, knocking him to the floor.

It’s Sam, helping him up, grabbing both his arms as he does, a worried look on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly once Killian’s standing again.  “I didn’t-”

“It’s fine,” Killian waves him away, rubbing his bruised side.  “Not the first time I’ve been knocked down in these hallways.”

“No, I mean-”

“I know,” Killian interrupts, not interested in really having this conversation.  He sighs.  “I know what you meant.  It’s fine.”

Sam is quiet for a moment, and so is he, neither of them looking at each other directly.

“You should get back to her,” Killian says quietly.  “She’s doesn’t like being alone, don’t leave her.”

_Don’t leave her like I did, don’t disappear like I did, don’t hurt her like I did._

“Go ask her for a dance,” Sam offers, gallant as always.  “I’m sure her date won’t object.”

He can’t ask her, can’t, not after everything he put her through, not with everything he was missing, with everything else she deserved.  He shakes his head.  “No, you should be the one she's-”

Killian’s not ready for the way Sam leans forward, grabbing the lapels of the suit that doesn’t quite fit him, pulling him closer, his lips pressing insistently against his.  Killian doesn’t move, can’t think, the warmth of Sam’s mouth on his chasing away any coherent thoughts he may have had.  It’s not a bad kiss, if it can even be called that, with the way Killian’s frozen in place, and it's over before he has a chance to process what just happened.

“Shut up,” Sam murmurs, releasing his grip on Killian’s jacket.  He’s smiling, his lips glistening in the dim light.  “Just shut up.”

Killian doesn’t say a word.

“You both are more perfectly suited for each other than either of you realise,” Sam continues.  “And if you’d just be quiet a moment and _look_ , you might stand a real chance with her.  I'm not here to steal away the woman you love, I'm here because you're being a bloody coward and she deserves a nice evening out. And if you're such an _idiot_ that you really can't see that you're exactly who she needs, then maybe that kiss will be the only one you'll get for the night.

“But, if you think you can do better than me, you'll get your ass out there, stop worrying about not being enough, and give Emma Swan a night she deserves.”

Killian opens his mouth, but Sam holds up a finger, pressing it against Killian’s lips and all words escape him again.

“One of you is going to have a good time tonight,” Sam says.  “I’d prefer if it was both of you, together, but if you’re too afraid, then I’m going back there to show Miss Swan how a gentleman treats a lady at a dance.  I expect to see you soon, asking her for a turn.”

Without letting him reply, Sam turns and walks back, his socked feet almost silent on the polished hallway floors.

Killian stands there a moment, his fingers grazing his lips at the lingering feel of the other boy’s lips, unsure how to react, unsure if he even _can_ react.  Did Sam really just…  He shakes his head, forcing it to clear.

He wants nothing more than to go in there and take Sam up on his offer, to ask Emma to dance with him, to be someone for her, someone she deserves.  But after everything he’s done, after leaving her last year, shutting down so completely after the accident, he’s certain she wants nothing to do with him.  How can she, when all he seems to do is leave a trail of disappointment wherever he goes?

But he knows how she feels.  He, more than anyone, understands what it means to be left alone, the pain at being not good enough for his own parents that they’d abandon him without a second thought.  The waiting for _someone_ to come for him and Liam, to take them in, to give them a family.  He understood her, and maybe that would be enough.

With a deep breath, he pushes his feet forward, toward the gym and all the noise of high school students having fun.

He spots them immediately - the middle of the dance floor with plenty of room around them, as if others recognise how perfectly suited they are for each other - and Killian almost loses his nerve.

Almost.

* * *

She’s dancing with Sam, actually dancing with Sam “Mr. Popular” Bellamy at the prom, and she can’t help but admit that she’s having a great time.  It’s been ages since she’s let herself relax like this, ages since she’s felt so… happy.  Sam, as promised, is a perfect gentleman, treating her like a princess worth so much more than the crap life she actually has, and she almost starts to believe it.

Someone taps her shoulder and she whirls around, shock written across her face as she sees...  Killian - _Killian_ \- stands there, his head bowed slightly, his hand outstretched.  “May I please have this dance?”

It’s the “please” that did it.

Emma glances quickly to Sam, but he’s grinning even wider than before, his eyes sparkling.  “Go ahead,” he nods, guessing her question before she asks.  “It’s your night.”  She hesitates, unwilling to leave him alone, but he senses that, too.  “I’ll be fine,” he laughs, glancing around the room.  “Plenty of people here to keep me company.”

He leans forward quickly, a soft kiss pressed gently to her cheek.  “Kiss him,” he whispers in her ear, his smile obvious in his hushed voice, “he’s good.”  With a laugh and a bow, he leaves them alone on the dance floor.

Alone.  Together.

Killian reaches nervously behind his ear, the way he always used to when he was nervous, the way he did just before he asked her to the dance last year, just before the accident.  But then he smiles, a shaky grin, and meets her eyes for the first time.  “Shall we dance?” he asks hesitantly.

Emma nods and takes his hand, his left arm circling her waist, hiding behind her.  She reaches back, pulling his wrist forward, holds tightly to the plastic brace that covers the end of his arm.

“Like this,” she says.

Her heart is racing, and from the way he swallows he seems just as nervous, but he grips her hand and they dance.

They don’t let go for the rest of the night.  He smiles and so does she, she laughs and so does he.  They talk, they dance, they go outside and watch the stars, they just have _fun_.

(She catches a glimpse of Sam a little while later, feeling guilty for leaving him alone, but he’s dancing with two other girls, cheerleaders, it looks like.  He grins and waves her back to Killian.)

(Sam comes over even later, offers her a ride back if she needs it, genuinely happy that she ditched him for Killian.  She declines his offer, kisses his cheek and thanks him.)

* * *

Killian walks her up the steps to her house, Liam waiting in the car behind him.  He says goodnight, leans in to kiss her cheek, but she turns her head at the last minute and it’s much better than the one he had with Sam.

She whispers a quiet thank you, the promise of more kisses laughing in her green eyes, and goes inside.

(He makes sure to find Sam the next day at school, kisses his cheek and thanks him.)


End file.
